


A Tale of Two Tuxedos

by alaana_fair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: Epilogue Compliant, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:36:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaana_fair/pseuds/alaana_fair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius has a plan, and being the brilliant Ravenclaw that he is, he knows it will work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale of Two Tuxedos

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Author's Notes:** Written for steamyaffair's prompt at hd_relief on LJ. My eternal gratitude to sesheta_66, cassie_black12, nursedarry, dysonrules, oldenuf2nb  & coffeejunkii for helping to make this a hundred times better than it would have been otherwise!

"What's up, Scorp?" Al dropped another handful of Bertie Bott's Beans into his mouth as he looked over his friend's shoulder. He seemed to be engrossed in the notice board, hopefully checking out when the next Hogsmeade weekend would be, since their sweets supply was running dangerously low.

"The Hogwarts All-House Quidditch Team has been invited to play in an exhibition game against the New England School of Magic in Rhode Island."

Scorpius' tone was even, but Al had known him long enough to detect the hint of excitement that lay just beneath the surface. He hummed, leaning against the wall so he could watch how Scorpius' face lit up at the prospect. The boy loved Quidditch more than anything.

"Where's Rhode Island?" he asked, much less enthused by the idea than Scorpius obviously was.

"It's in America, idiot. The New England School of Magic is the best magic school in North America. Most of the players on the Fitchburg Finches went there, remember? I was just telling you about that yesterday; there was an article in the _Daily Prophet_. The World Cup is to be held in Providence this year and they're having exhibition games the week before. Only twelve amateur teams in the world have been invited to attend, and we're one of them."

Al shrugged. He rarely listened to Scorpius' Quidditch rants and he didn't really see what the big deal was. It was just Quidditch. "I'm sure James will be thrilled." Apparently, Scorpius wasn't listening since he didn't yell about Al's lack of enthusiasm.

"There's a catch, though." Scorpius finally turned to face Al. He looked deep in thought. "The trip will cost five hundred Galleons per person, and we have to raise the money ourselves."

"Can't your father just—" Before Al had a chance to finish his thought, a herd of Gryffindors burst through the door to the Ravenclaw common room. They all looked as though they'd just caught the proverbial Snitch.

"Scorpius, did you see it?" Hugo was practically bouncing on his toes, which wasn't all that strange for Hugo. He almost always looked like that.

"Isn't it awesome?" James added, just as gleeful. "I'll bet there'll be loads of scouts there. This could be _huge_!"

Al rolled his eyes. Why, oh, why, had he been born into a family of Neanderthal sports geeks? Not that he couldn't appreciate the game for what it was, but all the hype just confused him. He used to be able to count on his sister for non-Quidditch related conversation, but lately she'd been too busy with her fellow snakes to bother. One snake in particular, who was far too old for a third year, in Al's opinion, and who just happened to be barging his way into their common room at that very moment.

"Why are they insisting we raise the money ourselves?" Zabini asked, looking scandalized by the mere thought.

"It's supposed to be a valuable learning experience," Rose explained. Not only was she a sports geek like the rest of his family, but she was also a know-it-all, which made her even more annoying.

Scorpius looked around at his fellow All-Star teammates who'd simultaneously burst into excited chatter. When Baddock and MacMillan finally arrived, late as usual, Scorpius turned back toward Al with a wicked smile. "I have a plan, and if it works, we might be able to hit two Bludgers with one bat."

And that – Scorpius’ innate way of matching every challenge with a plan – was why they had all gathered in the Ravenclaw common room. It was also why no one ever questioned how Scorpius Malfoy, son of the infamous Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, grandson of the quintessential Slytherin, Lucius Malfoy, had ended up in Ravenclaw.

No one really knew how Al had ended up a Ravenclaw. He'd only ever shared that secret with his dad.

~~~

Harry had just finished painting the hallway when the doorbell chimed. He groaned, hoping it wasn't another salesperson offering to give him a free estimate on a new roof. Or worse yet, those lawn service people that rang every two days. It had been the driest April in years; of course his garden looked dead. What did they expect?

He waved his wand to clean the mess from his hands, then climbed down the ladder, careful not to tip it this time. Perhaps taking an early retirement wasn't the wisest decision he'd ever made, but it had been worth it to be home with the kids over Easter break the previous week. Now that he only had them every other holiday, he planned to cherish every second of it.

The bell rang again, annoyingly insistent. "Keep your knickers on," he yelled. The door opened before he'd had the chance to reach it.

"I wasn't planning to remove them, Potter. What types of visitors have you had lately?"

Draco Malfoy stepped through the door looking immaculate, as always. The deep blue robes accentuated his pale skin and blond hair. The tiny silver buttons along the front and the light blue embroidery around the high collar and sleeves made him look almost regal. Harry felt woefully inadequate in his paint-stained cotton shirt and ripped up jeans.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly. "I thought you were another salesperson. They've been round almost every day since I moved in."

Draco glanced around the front room, his eyes appraising every square inch. "That's what you get for buying such a hovel. It's looking good though. You've been busy."

Harry felt exceptionally proud that Draco had noticed. His friends had all thought him mad for buying the almost dilapidated house in Islington, but he'd fallen in love with it the moment he saw it. It reminded him of the house in Godric's Hollow. Or at least, what he'd always imagined it to look like.

"Wasn't there a wall there the last time I was here?" Draco pointed to the large archway that now distinguished the front room from the dining room.

"Yeah." Harry nodded, certain he looked smug. "I took it down. I like the openness, and the windows in the dining room are so huge they add much needed light in here."

Draco appeared to be impressed. "I agree. It looks great. And the floors?"

"Stripped and stained. The previous owner had covered the oak with a stain that was far too dark. The natural colour is much nicer, don't you think?"

Draco looked back to him and smiled. "You're quite the interior decorator now, aren't you? And to think you wasted all those years chasing bad guys when you could have been doing this instead."

"Oh, shut up." Harry could feel the blush rising from his neck to heat his cheeks. "I doubt you came by to check out my renovation progress. Care for a drink?"

"Yes, a drink would be spectacular."

Harry motioned toward the sofa he'd purchased only days before. The soft cream colour had gone perfectly with the freshly painted rose walls. He moved to the sideboard and poured them both a glass of Firewhisky. "So?" he asked as he handed one glass to Draco and sat in the wing-backed chair opposite him. "I'm guessing this has something to do with our sons' fund-raising aspirations?"

Draco accepted the drink, taking a small sip, and setting it gingerly on the coffee table before pulling a piece of parchment from his breast pocket. "Yes," he answered, handing the parchment to Harry.

Harry read Scorpius' neat script and couldn't help but grin. He'd received a similar note from James less than an hour earlier. "A black tie affair, eh? Isn't that a bit Muggle?"

Scorpius and Al had met on the Hogwarts Express their first year, and since then Scorpius had insinuated himself into Harry's family as though he'd belonged there from the start. Harry had never found a reason to complain. Scorpius was a genuinely good kid. And over the last few years, Harry had come to accept that Draco was the sole reason for that. When Harry and Ginny had split up, Scorpius had been the one to hold Al, James _and_ Lily together. Strangely enough, and though Harry had never admitted it to another living soul, Draco had done the same for him.

"I'd rather not be caught dead in one of those ridiculous suits, honestly, but apparently they're all the rage."

"Well, as guest of honour, all I really need to do is show up, right?" Harry asked hopefully.

All hope was dashed when Draco smirked. "If you think you're getting away that easily, you are sadly mistaken." Draco picked up his glass and downed the remaining Firewhisky in one gulp. "There's planning to be done, Potter, and very little time to do it. The World Cup is mid-July. That gives us less than three months, which isn’t nearly enough."

Harry groaned. He had a feeling his renovations would be put on the backburner for a while.

~~~

Harry found out quickly that party planning was serious business. And that a party-planning Malfoy shared an odd resemblance to a one-winged Thestral.

"We need a _theme_ , Potter. We can't start sending out invitations until we have a _theme_." Draco enunciated every word as though he were talking to a five-year-old. Somehow, Harry had forgotten what an annoying prat the man could be.

"Fine." Harry stabbed his steak with his fork, pretending it had grey eyes and blond hair. "We're raising money for the Quidditch team, right? Why don't we do a Quidditch theme?"

"Quidditch?" Draco asked as though Harry had said _Trolls in tutus_.

"Yeah. Why not? We could have little miniature brooms flying around overhead, and Snitch centrepieces, and—"

"Quidditch?" Again with the _you're an idiot_ look. "It's a formal dinner, not a child's birthday party." Draco pushed his plate away as if Harry's idea had ruined his appetite. "Snitch centrepieces," he mumbled. "For the love of—"

"All right, you don't have to be an arse about it." Perhaps Draco did have a tiny point.

"We could make it a Muggle evening." Draco perked up as he said it. "We could have proper Muggle waiters, and a Muggle menu, and... and we could ward the Great Hall against magic for the night. What do you think?"

Harry bit his lip to stop the sarcasm. Instead, he tried a less inflammatory approach. "Er... Muggle food isn't that different, Draco. And Muggle waiters aren't either. And what do Muggles have to do with anything?"

Draco sighed heavily, the air whooshing out through his lips making a rumbling noise. "You're right. It's a terrible idea."

"I know what we can do." Harry had it. It was perfect. "We're raising money for the team to go to America, so why don't we make it an American theme?"

"How would we do that?" Draco pondered for a moment, which was more interest than any of Harry's previous ideas had elicited. "Decorate in stars and stripes and charm the place to make everyone speak with ridiculous American accents?"

Harry chuckled. The thought of Draco speaking with anything other than his haughty, upper-class drawl seemed downright scandalous. "Perhaps we shouldn't go _that_ far."

"We could charm the sky of the Great Hall to look like an American sky."

"I'm pretty sure the sky in America looks the same as it does here," Harry said cautiously. "What if we narrowed our focus a bit? Since they'll be going to Providence, we could do a New England theme." Draco cocked his head sideways as though he were considering the option, so Harry continued full steam ahead. "We wouldn't have to go overboard. Maybe just serve traditional New England foods and... I don't know. I've never been to America."

Draco pushed his chair away from the table, tossing his serviette onto it carelessly. His house-elf popped in immediately to clear his plate. Harry was suddenly glad he'd taken Draco up on his offer to plan the party over dinner at his house. Harry's kitchen was still in the middle of renovations, and Kreacher had long since retired.

"I think you've got something there, Potter. I have a book somewhere—" He stood and strode out of the dining room, not waiting to see if Harry would follow.

He led Harry down a long hall and into what appeared to be an office or library of some sort. Harry had been in Draco's home plenty of times over the last few years, but he had no idea there was a proper library. Although, in hindsight, he should have expected it. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves, save for one, which was taken up by a huge stone fireplace. There were two comfortable-looking chairs in front of it and a heavy mahogany desk in one corner. Harry could imagine Draco spending hours curled up in one of the chairs reading while the flames of the fire danced off his pale features.

Draco ran his finger along the spines on one shelf and Harry caught himself staring at the long digits. He'd never noticed how smooth Draco's skin was, or how delicate, yet strangely masculine his hands were.

"Yes, here it is." Draco pulled one of the books from its resting place and turned to Harry with a breathtaking smile. Harry had never thought of Draco as a particularly attractive man. His features were hard and sharp, like jagged stones along the coast, but when he smiled, the pointed edges seemed to soften, giving him an almost ethereal quality. "New England is actually very old by American standards and is steeped in magical history. Surely you remember the fiasco of the Salem Witch Trials."

"Of course I do. It was part of our study at the Auror Academy as it related to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. But that was Salem."

"Salem is part of New England." He flipped through the book in his hand and passed it to Harry. It was opened to a page with a map showing the New England area and its numerous magical communities. "It's home to one of the largest magical populations in America, second only to New York."

Harry flipped through the pages, stopping at a photo of what looked like a river set ablaze. The caption stated simply _Waterfire_. "What's this?" he asked, handing the book back.

Draco scanned the passage and grinned. "This is perfect. New Englanders are famous for their ability to co-exist with Muggles, of hiding in plain sight, as it were. This festival is a celebration of that philosophy. The Muggles, of course, have their own ideas of what it's all about, but for the magical population the bonfires in the rivers are a representation of their continued co-existence, the mixture of water representing the Muggle world, and fire representing magic." He looked up from the book with a gleam in his eyes. "We could recreate this at Hogwarts. Instead of having dinner in the Great Hall, we could erect a huge marquee outside and set bonfires in the Black Lake. It'd be brilliant."

~~~

As it turned out, the theme and invitations had been the easy part. Mostly because Draco had taken over the invitations without much input and had left Harry to finish the renovation of his kitchen. Harry's job had been to procure Hogwarts for the evening, which had been a simple assignment since Headmistress McGonagall still adored him. The only hiccup had come over the date of the event. Draco had expressed interest in having it over the summer so there'd be no students to contend with. However, McGonagall had seen it as a possible learning experience for the students and had respectfully requested they plan it for the last week of the school year. Draco had argued at first, but when Harry had told him McGonagall's plan to have the students study the history of _Waterfire_ and then participate by building and lighting the fires the day of the dinner, he'd seen the educational opportunity for what it was. Or perhaps he'd just considered it one less thing they'd have to do in preparation. Either way, he had finally agreed.

Now there was a menu to be chosen and Harry had tasted more lobster recipes than he cared to count. "Honestly, Draco. It's all delicious. Just pick one already."

"Mmm. This one—" Draco pointed to the one that looked almost too fancy for Harry to touch. "—this is it." Draco took another bite and closed his eyes as he chewed. His expression was almost obscene. "Sweet Merlin, that's good."

Harry laughed. "Do I want to know how much you're actually _spending_ on this menu?"

Draco shook his head, apparently still savouring the flavour of the lobster in his mouth. Harry took a sip of one of the many wines Draco had special ordered from Connecticut for testing. They had all tasted fine to Harry, but this one had been Draco's favourite by far. It occurred to Harry that Draco might have had one too many glasses because he was looking at Harry oddly, as though he might be the next course. Harry also thought that perhaps he may have had more than one too many glasses because all he could think about was the way Draco's eyebrows framed his eyes, and his muddled brain supplied the words _beautiful_ and _sexy_ and several other words that shouldn't be used to describe any part of Draco Malfoy.

"We have appointments tomorrow afternoon at Gieves and Hawkes to be measured for tuxedos, remember?" Draco asked after washing down his lobster with more wine.

"Yeah," Harry answered. It wasn't entirely true. Even though he'd made the appointment, it had somehow escaped him. Harry hadn't understood why he couldn't hire a suit. It seemed a ridiculous waste of money to buy something he'd surely only wear once, but Draco had insisted they each have a suit specially made.

"Don't forget, Potter. I can't possibly go into that store alone. I may no longer despise Muggles, but I'm still not very adept at dealing with them."

"No, I won't. Why don't you Floo over to my place at midday and we can have lunch at that little cafe you like on the corner beforehand?" Harry felt heat rising into his cheeks. It had to be the wine, because if he'd said that to anyone else, it would have most certainly sounded like a date.

Draco cocked his head to one side and looked at Harry with that odd expression again. "That'd be very nice. Thank you."

Harry's alcohol-addled brain provided, _and perhaps we could have dinner afterward_ but he swallowed the words before they had a chance to come out. "I should go," he said instead.

Draco's brow furrowed and he glanced at the grandfather clock that sat in the corner of his dining room. He looked as though he wanted to argue but he simply shrugged instead. "All right," he said as he stood. "I'll have the recipe for the herb-grilled lobster tail delivered to the house-elves at Hogwarts along with that blueberry pie you loved so much."

Harry hurried to the Floo before he said anything stupid. Draco stood next to him as though he was expecting Harry to say _something_. "Er... "The moment was terribly awkward, and Harry couldn't understand why. "So. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Draco nodded, his lip twitching on one side as if he were trying to cover a smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

Harry grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and tossed it into the fire to escape the heat in the room.

~~~

Harry's bearings had thankfully righted themselves by the time Draco stepped through the Floo the next day. He'd spent most of the night tossing and turning, but by morning, he'd realised how silly he was being. He and Draco were friends, and Harry wasn't going to let a sudden attraction jeopardize that. It was that simple. Although, when Draco brushed the Floo Powder off his shoulders and turned to look at Harry with a decidedly nervous smile, Harry wondered how long his resolution would last.

"Ready to get this over with, Potter?"

"You know, Draco, it's just a tux fitting. It's not that different from going to Madam Malkin's."

"It is," Draco insisted. "Muggles are... odd. And they have to _touch_ you to take the measurements."

It occurred to Harry that Draco might not have come quite as far with Muggle acceptance as he led people to believe. His thoughts must have shown because Draco scowled.

"It's not because they're Muggles. It's just—" Draco shivered as if the fireplace had a terrible draft. "I don't like people touching me, Muggle or not."

Harry hadn't considered that possibility. He'd touched Draco plenty of times. Draco had practically carried him home from the pub on numerous occasions in the months after he and Ginny had split up. The day he'd signed the final divorce papers, he'd fallen asleep with his head in Draco's lap while they both pretended there were no tears in Harry's eyes.

"Oh." What else was there to say? "We should probably get going. I'm famished. How 'bout you?"

Draco nodded. It seemed he was grateful for the distraction. "Are we walking to the cafe?"

"Yeah, I thought we could. It's only down the road."

Luckily the brisk winds of April were behind them, but the sky was overcast and there looked to be rain on the horizon. Unlike Harry, Draco had worn a light grey jacket over his open collared shirt, and, as always, favoured his casual trousers over Harry's ever-present jeans.

"You look chilled, Potter. Do you want to go back for a jacket?"

Harry shook his head and smiled. Draco seemed genuinely concerned, which gave Harry a warm glow in the pit of his stomach. "I was just thinking it looks like rain's on the way. I didn't bring a brolly."

"Repellent Charms. Just because we're in Muggle territory doesn't mean we have to act like Muggles."

They reached the small corner cafe and Harry found himself holding the door open for Draco. It was a simple enough gesture, but as soon as he'd done it, he wanted to kick himself. He was being ridiculous. This was no different than going to lunch with Ron. Only it was. Because he'd never wanked to the memory of Ron before.

Fuck.

Draco led them to a small corner table and sat down crossing his arms over his chest. "All right. Out with it."

Harry sat in the chair opposite him and stared. "What?" he asked, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. Thankfully, the server came to take their order and Harry hoped it would be a sufficient distraction to make Draco forget their conversation. Unfortunately, he had an excellent memory.

"You've been acting strange for days now," Draco continued as soon as she'd left. "Is it the planning? I know I can be a bit... overbearing at times."

Harry laughed. That was a bit of an understatement, but he hadn't really minded. It was somehow endearing.

"It's just that... I want this to go well. You have no idea how excited Scorpius was to make the All-House Team. He acted like a five-year-old on Christmas morning for days after he got his letter last summer."

Harry understood that perfectly well. James had done the same thing the year he'd made the team. It had been the validation he'd always wanted. That he could be something more than Harry Potter's son.

"He means everything to me, Harry," Draco added quietly, as though it was something he should be ashamed of. "I want him to have everything I didn't."

Harry understood that too. He felt the same way. That was one reason the divorce had been so difficult. He'd wanted his kids to have the family he never had. He had tried so damn hard, but in the end, it hadn't been enough.

"I'm sorry if I'm pushing too hard," Draco added, looking genuinely worried.

"It's not that." Harry reached across the table and squeezed Draco's elbow. His hands had fallen to his lap and he was wringing the edge of his jacket between his fingers. "I promise it's nothing you've done. It's just... I've been working out some things and I... everything's fine, Draco. Don't worry about it, all right."

Draco gnawed on his lip for a moment before nodding. The waitress brought their food and they talked about the marquee Draco had ordered for the event and the basins he'd ordered for the bonfires in the Black Lake. They talked about the china and silverware Draco had organized to be sent to Hogwarts from Malfoy Manor. They talked about their kids, and what an adventure the trip to America would be for them. And the entire time all Harry could think about was how Draco would look in a jet-black tuxedo.

"We should probably be going, don't you think? Our appointment's at half past one."

"Oh. Yeah." Harry had completely lost track of the time. "We can walk across the street to the park and Apparate from there if you want." Harry stood and pulled twenty pounds from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. The waitress smiled at them and waved as they left.

Once they were in an area of the park that was well hidden from Muggle eyes, Draco seemed nervous again.

"There's an alley just around the corner. Do you want me to Apparate us both?"

Draco hooked his arm through Harry's without hesitation. It felt nicer than Harry ever remembered it feeling. At that proximity he could smell Draco's aftershave, and a wisp of hair blew and tickled his cheek.

"Ready?" he asked.

Draco nodded. "As ready as ever, I suppose."

~~~

"I can't believe I was so worried about that," Draco said as he plopped onto Harry's sofa.

Harry chuckled. It had taken less than ten minutes each to have all their measurements done. Harry had gone first, and by the time it had been Draco's turn, he seemed completely at ease. Of course, it may have helped that the tailor was as fit as anyone Harry had ever met. He refused to acknowledge the bubble of jealousy that had formed in his gut at the way Draco had smiled at the man.

They had looked through several collections of different styles before Draco had settled on a simple black suit with a grey waistcoat and traditional bow tie. Harry hadn't cared much about his own suit, so Draco and the tailor had chosen one for him. Now that he thought about it, it might not have been the wisest way to go, but Draco had looked up from the photos and smiled at him, nodding to the tailor, and murmuring something about how it matched the colour of Harry's eyes.

"So what are you doing this evening, Potter?" Draco sat up straight and crossed his legs, waiting expectantly.

It seemed Harry hadn't made plans with anyone but Draco in ages. It was rather pathetic, now that he thought about it. "I'm not sure," he finally answered.

"Excellent." Draco beamed, his eyes lighting up in a way that made Harry's stomach do a very unmanly little flip-flop. "I've an invitation to the opening of that new art gallery in Hogsmeade and it seems I've failed to procure a date. You do own dress robes, don't you?"

Harry groaned. "Draco, I'm not really the art gallery type."

"Of course you are. Everyone loves art." Draco waved his hand as though the decision had already been made. "Besides, there's a dance after the reception and, if I'm not mistaken, you'll probably need to brush up on your dancing skills before _Waterfire_."

"It's just a dinner, Draco. There's no dancing." Harry didn't ever remember discussing dancing. "Is there?"

"Of course there is. You can't have a formal event without dancing. I booked the band weeks ago. Aptly named _Earth, Water and Fire_. They're fabulous."

Harry felt a moment of panic. There was no way he was dancing in front of the hundred plus people who'd accepted an invitation to _Waterfire_.

"Harry, it's just dancing."

"I don't dance. Just ask Hermione. The last time I danced was at her and Ron's wedding and she told me I should never do it again."

"Yes, but that's when you were still firmly in the closet and were expected to _lead_." Draco stood and held out his hand. "Come here. I'll show you."

Harry didn't move.

Draco chuckled and shook his head. "Don't make me hex you, Potter."

"I can't."

"Yes you can." Draco reached down and took Harry's hands from where they'd been clenching the fabric of the sofa, and tugged him to his feet. "Trust me. If I can teach Pansy to dance, I can teach anyone."

Harry was mortified. He knew he had two left feet. He'd known for as long as he could remember. Draco moved one of Harry's hands to his shoulder and gripped the other tightly. He wrapped one arm around Harry's waist and grinned.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

Harry tried to relax, but it was impossible. Not only was he worried about crushing Draco's toes, but his proximity was making Harry lightheaded.

Draco tightened his grip around Harry's waist and pulled him closer, leaning in to whisper into his ear, "Close your eyes."

Harry did, and it was a very bad idea, because with his eyes closed his other senses seemed to come to life. He could feel the strength of Draco's arm around him, the steady beat of Draco's heart against his chest, the warmth of Draco's breath wafting along his ear. He could smell not just Draco's aftershave, but what he was sure was the soap he'd used in the shower earlier that morning and the shampoo he'd used to lather his hair. Music, soft and rhythmic, seemed to come from nowhere, urging Harry to move.

"Don't think, Harry. Just relax and listen to the music. Imagine you're flying and I'm your broom."

Harry was quite sure he whimpered. That was the _very last_ thing he wanted to imagine right now, because he could already feel his cock swelling against the fly of his tight jeans.

"Draco."

"Harry. Dance with me." It was barely a whisper against Harry's ear, but it set off fireworks in Harry's chest. He squeezed his eyes tighter and tried to relax into Draco – to become pliant in his arms. And then they were moving, slowly at first, and then faster, and Harry could feel Draco's arm around him, the hand on his back somehow guiding him and Harry knew when to move and when to turn and his feet suddenly didn't feel so heavy.

And then the music stopped. And Harry didn't. He still felt like he was flying and his heart was racing and before he knew it he'd tripped and toppled on top of something not quite as soft as his sofa. He clenched his eyes tighter and hoped the floor would open up and swallow him. Something rumbled beneath him, and it only took a moment to realise what, or rather who it was. Harry opened his eyes to see Draco trapped beneath him. His eyes were moist with tears of laughter.

Harry closed his eyes again and buried his face into Draco's chest. "I warned you."

"Hey." Harry felt Draco's fingers thread through his hair and then tighten to tug his head up. "You were brilliant," Draco said before he burst into another fit of decidedly un-Malfoyish giggles. "You just lost your concentration when the music stopped, that's all."

"I'm _never_ letting you talk me into anything _ever_ again."

Draco laughed harder, but he wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders and held him tightly, which was almost worth making a complete fool of himself.

"Come with me tonight," Draco whispered against the top of Harry's head. "It'll be fun. I promise."

Harry nodded his head without his brain's permission. He'd obviously gone completely round the bend. But then Draco's lips were against Harry's hair again. Harry was sure he'd imagined it, but he could have sworn Draco had placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

~~~

 _Magical Arts_ wasn't what Harry had expected. Yes, art hung on every available wall, some of which moved and giggled when he walked past, but there were also sculptures made of every imaginable material. There was glass and steel, of course, but there was one made entirely of strands of silk suspended in the air by glowing candles. One even looked as though it were made of soap. Every piece had a story, and Draco seemed to know them all. It was a side of Draco he'd never seen before. He seemed to flit around the room with the enthusiasm of a third year on his first trip to Hogsmeade. Harry shook his head and turned away from watching Draco, almost running into someone in the process.

"Harry Potter."

Harry turned, surprised to see Dean Thomas smiling back at him. Harry hadn't seen him in years.

Dean held out his hand. "You're probably the last person I'd expect to see at a place like this."

Harry shook Dean's hand, happy to see him. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Last I heard you'd gone off gallivanting across the globe."

"Ah, yes. In search of inspiration, I believe I said."

Harry chuckled. "Did you find it?"

Dean looked across the room, his eyes settling on a striking woman with golden hair. She looked to be involved in a serious discussion with several men about one of the paintings. "I did, indeed," he finally answered. Dean nodded toward the woman. "My lovely bride, in fact."

The way Dean looked at her made Harry feel uneasy for some reason. Dean was obviously very much in love.

"I'd like to say it had been love at first sight, but in reality, she hated my guts for the first year I knew her." The woman turned toward Dean and waved him over. Dean's entire face lit up. "I should probably get back to her before she gives away all my secrets. It was good seeing you, Harry. We should get together now that I'm back and catch up, yeah?"

Harry nodded, thinking it was a fabulous idea. He'd lost track of Draco during his conversation, so he meandered around the gallery, amazed by how talented the artists were. There were a few pieces he didn't care for, but he suspected that was more to do with his taste than anything else.

"There you are." Draco sidled up to him and grinned. "I've been looking everywhere for you. They've just opened up the ballroom. I think it's time for that dance you promised me."

"I don't recall promising you any such thing."

Harry followed Draco's gaze to the empty gallery that had been temporarily turned into a ballroom. "Come on, Harry. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I seem to have left it at home, safely tucked under my bedcovers."

"Well—" Draco grinned wickedly, "—that's certainly not a bad place to leave it."

Harry felt himself blush all the way down to his toes.

"Come on, Harry. Dance with me."

Harry's breath caught in his chest. There was something about the way Draco said it, the way one would whisper _fuck me_ into a lover's ear.

Draco didn't wait for Harry to answer. He took Harry's hand and led him into the empty gallery. He placed one hand on Harry's waist, just as he'd done earlier. Thankfully, he didn't ask Harry to close his eyes, because the light from the floating candles was reflecting on his hair and dancing in his eyes, and he looked... beautiful. There was no other word for it.

"Just follow where I lead. Don't think. Just _feel_."

So they danced, if you could call it that. It felt more like floating to Harry. Or like flying.

"I told you you could do it," Draco said after they'd danced for what seemed like hours.

Harry rested his head against Draco's shoulder and felt more at ease than he had in ages. The music seemed almost like a ghost, floating overhead and tickling his ribs as it brushed between them.

"You're a good teacher."

Draco's arms tightened around him. Harry couldn't remember when Draco had released his hand and wrapped both arms around his waist, pulling their bodies flush together. He did, however, recall the soft wisp of breath against his ear from where Draco had laughed at him for stepping on his toes. He remembered the way Draco had guided them from the centre of the dance floor to a quiet corner, and the urge he had to run his fingers through Draco's hair and to brush his lips against Draco's neck.

"Your teacher needs to go to the loo."

A strangled complaint bubbled up from Harry's throat and he held onto Draco like a child clinging to a teddy bear.

Draco simply laughed. "I'm stopping now; don't knock us both into the potted plant."

When Draco stopped, Harry felt slightly dizzy, as though he'd had far too much to drink. Considering he'd only had one glass of champagne, he was fairly certain that wasn't the problem. Draco held Harry's hand as he led the way back to the main gallery. The lights were brighter, and Harry blinked to encourage his eyes to adjust. A tray floated by with several fancy glasses of champagne and Draco snagged one and handed it to Harry.

"I'll be right back," Draco said, smiling. "Catch your breath; we have more dancing to do."

Harry smiled back and nodded, still feeling a bit drunk. He leaned back against the wall to try to steady himself.

"So, you and Malfoy, eh?"

Harry turned to see Dean watching him closely.

"No," Harry insisted, shaking his head. "We're just friends."

Dean cocked one dark eyebrow and smirked. "Harry, mate, I've seen friends dance, and trust me, it's never looked anything like that."

Harry felt himself blush.

Dean chuckled and clapped him on the back. He looked over his shoulder to where his wife was now conversing with one of the artists Harry had met earlier. "I have to admit, there's only one thing sexier than falling in love with your best friend—" Dean leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "—and that's falling in love with your best friend who used to be your worst enemy."

Harry tried to deny it, but his throat closed up around the words. When realization hit, it felt as though someone had dunked him into a tub of ice water. He was _falling in love_ with Draco Malfoy. He'd accepted attraction; he'd even accepted lust. But love? He'd tried that and it had turned out to be a disaster. He'd sworn on his mother's grave that he'd never do it again. Ever. And yet... _fuck_. Draco appeared from the loo as if Harry had Summoned him. Draco met his eyes across the crowded room. His smile was radiant, his eyes soft, his cheeks still flushed from the dancing, and Harry panicked.

"I need to go." Harry was sure Dean had responded, but Harry had no idea what he said. He swerved through the crowd and found the Floo as quickly as possible, calling out his address as he practically jumped into the green flames.

~~~

"Harry Potter, if you don't open this door I swear to you I'll blast it off its hinges."

Harry should have expected it, but he wasn't ready to face Draco yet. He still had to sort things out, but Draco was pounding on the door and it was two o'clock on a Sunday morning and his neighbours already hated him from all the noise the renovations caused.

He slipped out from under the covers where he'd been pretending to sleep. He didn't bother throwing a dressing gown over his pyjamas. When he opened the door, Draco's eyes were like fire.

Draco pushed the door open with more force than necessary and turned on Harry like an angry Hippogriff.

"What the fuck, Potter?"

Harry had no idea what to say. Draco was obviously livid, and nothing he was willing to say would change that.

"I wasn't feeling well." Harry shrugged and made to turn toward the sofa, but a firm grip on his bicep stopped him.

"You weren't feeling well?" Draco mocked him. "So you just ran out like someone had set your hair on fire?"

Harry felt the anger start in his gut and rumble up his body like a volcano. He wasn't sure if he was angry with Draco or himself, and he knew he should stop it before it started, but he couldn't. He ripped his arm from Draco's grip and scowled. "You're not my bloody keeper, Malfoy."

For a split second, Draco looked as though Harry had slapped him, but he schooled it quickly and the old sneer was back. It had been years since Harry had seen such loathing in Draco's eyes and it seemed to fuel whatever fire was burning in Harry's soul. He needed this. He needed Draco to be the arrogant arse Harry remembered from Hogwarts. He needed to kill whatever it was that was making his insides twist like snakes.

"You're an arse," Draco said evenly.

Harry laughed. That's exactly what Ginny had said just before she'd left for the last time. It seemed fitting, somehow. "You're not the first to call me that."

Harry wasn't entirely sure how it happened. One minute he was turning toward the kitchen to get himself a cold beer, the next he was shoved against the wall with Draco's body pressed against him from chest to thigh. Draco's fingers were wrapped tightly around his wrists, pressing them against the wall over his head.

Draco's voice was like venom when he whispered into Harry's ear. "Don't _ever_ compare me to her. She hurt you, I get that, but I am _not_ her."

Harry tried to push Draco away, but the fight seemed to have left him. "Doesn't matter," he whispered, not caring if Draco heard him.

"Like hell it doesn't," Draco snarled.

And then he kissed Harry. It was more of an assault than a kiss, really. His teeth scraped against Harry's lower lip and he dropped one of Harry's hands to grip his hair and tug his head sideways so he would have better access to plunder Harry's mouth, and _God_ Draco's other hand had wormed its way into Harry's pants and his cock swelled to meet it. He knew he should push Draco away, but there was no way in hell that he would. Instead, he said what he'd wanted to say all day.

"Fuck me."

Draco stilled for a moment, as though he hadn't really heard what Harry had said.

"Now, Draco. _Fuck. Me_."

Draco growled, deep in his throat, and pulled away as if he'd only then realised what they were doing. He looked Harry up and down. Harry was sure he looked a fright. "This is what you want? To be shoved against a wall and taken like a whore?"

Harry didn't respond and Draco looked at him with sad eyes.

"No," Draco said finally, and then kissed him again.

This time it wasn't rough. It was soft and warm. Full of tenderness and compassion and _love_. Harry wanted it so badly he ached for it, but he couldn't. Angry sex against a wall he could do. Being bent over the sofa and fucked until he screamed, he could do. But not this.

"Then leave." It came out in a voice Harry didn't recognize – emotionless and cold – and the hurt in Draco's eyes was something he'd probably hate himself for later. But right now, he didn't care.

Draco's lips thinned into a straight line and he nodded. He was gone before Harry had a chance to change his mind.

Harry rested his head against the cool wall. Happy endings were meant for people like Ron and Hermione, not for orphaned boys who'd been raised in a cupboard.

~~~

Harry went back to his life as usual. He owled Ron and suggested they go out to the pub. Harry hadn't seen him or Hermione in ages. He'd pushed them away after the divorce, just like everyone else. Everyone except Draco, but he didn't want to think about that now.

It took Harry three weeks, several demolished walls, and a newly planted bed of wildflowers to bring him to his senses. Merlin, he was the biggest idiot on the face of the planet sometimes. He dressed quickly, before he lost his nerve. He stood in front of his fireplace until the handful of Floo Powder started to stick to his sweaty palm before finally tossing it in and calling out Draco's address. As soon as he stepped through the Floo he realised he'd made a horrible mistake.

It took Draco a moment before he noticed Harry was there. Of course, considering he had his tongue down some bloke's throat it was amazing he realised it at all.

"Harry." He stood quickly, his unbuttoned shirt hanging off one shoulder. "What—?"

"Forget it," Harry said hastily, turning back to the Floo as quickly as he could.

"Harry, wait—"

He didn't wait. He grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and tossed it in, escaping as fast as he could. He ignored the desperation in Draco's voice. He ignored the ache in his chest and the feeling that someone had just ripped his intestines from his body. He ignored the burn in his throat and the stinging in his eyes. He ignored the knock on his door at midnight and the incessant owl that tapped on his window until dawn.

~~~

The next morning Harry finally let the owl in. The poor thing was probably dehydrated from the June heat. The note attached to his leg said simply, _It's not what you think._

Harry wasn't sure what to make of that. He wasn't sure what he thought of anything anymore.

The following morning a new owl was resting on his windowsill. Harry unrolled the note, feigning detachment. _Are you not speaking to me now?_

Harry considered owling a response, but had no idea what he'd say.

The next message contained only one word. _Coward._

Harry would have been annoyed if Draco hadn't been right, and he'd be lying if he said he was glad when the owls stopped coming. He pretended it didn't matter. When he finally worked up the nerve to owl Draco to see if he needed help with the fundraiser, the return note had been short and very to the point. _Fuck you_.

Instead of making him angry, it made him laugh, which said more about his relationship with Draco than anything else.

Two hours later, he received another owl. _Have you made the appointment for our final fittings?_

Harry hadn't, but he rang Gieves and Hawkes right away so he wouldn't have to admit it. _Two o'clock, Monday. Do you want me to meet you, or will your_ boyfriend _be accompanying you?_

 _Do they teach a special course on arse-hattery for Gryffindors, or are you all naturals?_

 _I'm pretty sure it's what the Sorting Hat looks for. You didn't answer the question._

 _And I won't. You already know the answer. I'll see you Monday._

~~~

Harry was in the middle of his fitting when Draco stormed through the door fifteen minutes late. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Harry in his tux. It was similar to the one Draco had picked out for himself, only instead of Draco's silver waistcoat, Harry's had a deep green cummerbund and a matching tie that Harry was quite sure he'd never be able to knot properly. His white shirt was pleated down the front, which Harry thought probably made him look ridiculous.

"What do you think?" he asked, standing on the little platform with the tailor placing pins along the hem of his trousers.

Draco's chest expanded as he took in a deep breath and let it out in a slow whoosh. "I think I'll be lucky to get a dance at all with you looking like that."

He didn't even allude to Harry's recent voyage into insanity, which reminded Harry of why he'd been so drawn to Draco in the first place. After his split with Ginny, Harry's friends had all tried to be helpful. Hermione had insisted he talk about his feelings; Ron had asked question after question, somehow thinking if he knew enough he'd be able to fix it; even Neville had pried him for details.

Draco had taken him out and got him completely drunk. He'd never once mentioned Ginny. He'd never asked a single question about what had happened. But when Harry had been ready to talk, he'd listened. He hadn't judged, he hadn't laid blame. He'd simply handed Harry another drink and asked how Lily was enjoying her first year at Hogwarts.

The tailor ordered Draco to the changing room to try on his suit while he finished with Harry's hem. He hadn't yet come out when Harry went to change, and by the time Harry had sorted out how to change out of his tux without being stuck by numerous pins Draco was already finished and waiting for him. Apparently, his suit had fit perfectly without any necessary alterations.

"Sorry I was late."

"I'd begun to think you weren't coming." Harry hadn't meant for it to come out as an accusation, but he was sure it had. Draco didn't seem to take offence. He simply held the door open for Harry as they left.

"We forgot to finalize the flowers for the tables. I had to run by at lunch to order them."

As they walked around the corner to the alley, Harry found he wasn't ready to let Draco leave. He'd missed him over the last few weeks. "What flowers did you choose?"

Draco beamed, clearly pleased with the question. "It's a surprise. I think you'll approve."

They stood there for an awkward moment before Harry thought of something to say. "Do you need anything? I mean... for the event. I... haven't been a lot of help lately."

"You've been... preoccupied." Draco reached out and took Harry's hand, squeezing it briefly before letting it fall again. "Everything's ready to go. I was at Hogwarts yesterday to test the menu; the house-elves are well prepared, as always. The students have finished building the fires and will light them on Saturday well before guests start to arrive."

"The marquee?"

"Will be constructed on Friday evening. I've hired a very reputable company. I've no doubt it will be in perfect condition by Saturday morning."

He must have looked disappointed, because Draco gave him an encouraging smile. "You're the guest of honour, Harry. I just need you to show up, all right?"

Harry promised he would, but when Draco Apparated away, he felt like he'd somehow missed something.

~~~

 _How in the hell do you tie this fucking tie?_

 _You're impossible, you know that? Get your arse over here. I'll tie it for you._

Harry stepped out of the Floo expecting Draco to be waiting for him, but he was nowhere in sight. "Draco?"

"Upstairs. Come up."

Harry took the stairs two at a time. The door, which Harry assumed led to Draco's bedroom, was half opened. "Draco?" Harry pushed the door open the rest of the way. Draco was standing in front of a mirror combing his hair. When he turned around Harry almost forgot why he'd come.

He'd seen men in tuxedos before. His Uncle Vernon had worn one to a charity function he and Aunt Petunia had attended once. He'd seen loads of tuxedo-clad men on the telly, but none of them had prepared him for this. Draco stood in front of him, obviously waiting for some kind of response, and Harry's throat had seemed to close up entirely.

Draco looked stunning. The jacket and trousers were blacker than night, somehow making Draco's pale skin look as though it glowed. The neat shirt was smooth with tiny black buttons down the front. The grey waistcoat looked like it was made of silk and was the perfect match of Draco's eyes. A hint of white peeked out from his breast pocket and a tiny white flower was attached to one lapel.

Draco slipped his hands into his pockets, his lips curving up into a slow smile. "Can I assume by your Stupefied expression that you approve?"

Harry blinked several times to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "Fuck, Draco." The words sounded like they'd been ripped from his throat. Draco's smile widened.

"You look rather handsome yourself." Draco moved forward, taking the strip of green cloth from Harry's hand and wrapping it around his neck. "I take back every bad thing I've ever said about Muggles. Lift."

Harry tilted his chin up so Draco's long fingers could do their work. It took Draco less than a minute before he stepped back and appraised Harry. He must have been pleased with what he saw. He took Harry's hand and led him to the mirror. "I daresay there won't be two more handsome men in attendance tonight," he said as he stared into the mirror to admire the view.

Warning bells were ringing loudly in Harry's head, but he forgot everything he'd told himself about ruining their friendship. At that moment, he wanted to kiss Draco more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

"We should go. We have to walk from Hogsmeade, remember. It wouldn't do to be late to our own event, now would it?"

Draco dropped Harry's hand and moved away. He picked his wand up from the table next to the mirror and tipped his head toward the door. "Shall we?"

All Harry could do was nod.

~~~

Harry was in awe when he arrived at Hogwarts. The marquee was made of a shimmering white material with clear windows and awnings around the outside. There were at least thirty bonfires blazing in the lake and they seemed to reach to the sky and blend in with the setting sun.

"Wow." It was all Harry could manage.

"Wait until you see the inside. I was here earlier to make sure the flowers had arrived safely. Everything's perfect."

Harry walked through the large arched doorway and couldn't believe he was in a marquee. It looked ten times bigger than it had from the outside. The entire side facing the lake was open with a perfect view of the fires. A large chandelier hung from the peaked ceiling and glistened with hundreds of candles. There was a stage against one side with a sparkling parquet dance floor in front of it and dozens of large round tables scattered about. The tables and chairs were all covered with crisp white cloth.

In the centre of each table there were... Harry hesitated to call them flowers. They were more like miniature works of art. Tiny white water lilies floated in a shallow round bowl. From the edges of the bowl, three delicate vines of glass rose up and wrapped around the stem of a single fiery orange flower, which seemed to sprout from the centre of the water.

Harry looked at Draco with amazement. "You did all this."

Draco shrugged, and for the first time in days seemed unsure of himself. "I thought you'd like the lilies. I know they're your favourite."

They were his favourite, but he couldn't recall ever telling anyone that.

"Well, boys, I can honestly say I'm impressed."

Harry started from what seemed like an intrusion on something very important. He turned to face the Headmistress and tried to cover his annoyance.

"If anyone had told me twenty years ago that the two of you could work so well together, I would have never believed them," she continued, apparently oblivious that she had interrupted anything.

"Thank you, Headmistress." Draco tipped his head politely. "You look beautiful this evening."

If Harry hadn't known her better, he'd have thought she blushed.

After that, the guests began arriving in earnest. Draco met each one with a smile and a handshake. Harry tried to follow his lead, but he still wasn't good at making small talk. Trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres began to float around the room and soft music hummed in the air. Fortunately, Ron and Hermione had finally shown up and Harry was able to hide in a corner with them for a bit of a respite from all the handshaking.

"Wow, Harry." Hermione looked around the room as though she couldn't believe her eyes. "This turned out nicer than my wedding."

Ron cleared his throat loudly. "For a hundred Galleons a head, it'd better be nice."

Hermione rolled her eyes and smacked him in the arm. "I had no idea it'd be this... fancy."

It was Hermione's polite way of saying, "I can't believe _you_ did this."

"Draco did most of it, so I'm afraid I can't take much credit."

"That's absurd." Harry felt the brush of Draco's arm as he joined the conversation. "Harry was invaluable. The entire theme was his idea."

They both knew it was a lie, but Draco smiled and winked at him, and then the bell chimed to indicate it was time for dinner to be served. Plates of lobster appeared around each table, along with heavy crystal glasses and silver ice buckets. Bottles of wine floated from the buckets and danced around the glasses, filling each one with just the right amount of golden liquid. Harry had lived in the magical world long enough that the spectacle really shouldn't surprise him, but he stared nonetheless. He heard Draco's deep chuckle next to him and when he turned, Draco was smiling.

"Don't worry, Harry. It still amazes me too, and I've never known anything else. Come on, we should get seated."

Harry looked around the room, uncertain of where he should sit.

A small folded card on the table nearest the open wall seemed to glow and his name, written in Draco's flowing script, floated above the table. Magic truly was amazing.

"Where are you seated?" He directed the question to the group, but his eyes seemed to settle on Draco.

"With the guest of honour, of course. Where else?" Draco grinned, and headed toward their table. Harry wanted to reach out and grab his hand, but Ron and Hermione followed him instead.

Dinner went off without a hitch. The salad was perfect. The wine was perfect. The lobster was perfect. Draco was perfect - even if he did kick Harry in the shin twice for using the wrong fork. He laughed at Dennis Creevey's awful jokes, and humoured Ron with the latest Quidditch gossip. He talked politics with Hermione and the woman from the Department of International Magical Co-operation whose name Harry couldn't seem to remember. He discussed art with Dean and his wife, Felicity, who turned out to be an artist as well. Harry couldn't remember a more wonderful evening.

"You've been awfully quiet. Everything all right?" Draco asked just as Harry was taking his last bite of blueberry pie.

Ron and Dennis were in a relatively heated argument about something related to the Auror Department, Hermione and the Ministry lady were talking about their kids, Dean was whispering something into Felicity's ear that made her blush, and Draco looked so fucking gorgeous staring at him with those wide grey eyes that Harry just wanted to reach out and touch him.

"You're not going to run away from me again, are you?" he asked.

Harry glanced out at the blazing fires, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know what he wanted to do. He wanted to run away so badly his feet itched, but he also wanted to take Draco's hand and never let it go.

"I don't know," he answered as honestly as he could.

Draco tipped his head in a slight nod and excused himself from the table.

~~~

Harry sat on the damp ground and stared out at the lake with the blazing fires. _Waterfire_ had been a phenomenal success. So why then, did Harry feel like he'd had his heart ripped out of his chest?

"I thought I'd find you out here."

Draco sat on the ground next to him. Harry assumed he was staring out at the lake, but he couldn't risk looking to be sure. There was too much he wanted to say but he didn't know how to say any of it.

"I just needed some air." He bent his knees and rested his forehead against them.

"When we were at school here, Pansy used to say you and I were like fire and water."

Harry lifted his head and looked back out at the blazing fires again. The lake seemed larger than life with its dark water and hidden secrets. Harry could feel the heat from the fire even at a distance. It was beautiful, yet ultimately untouchable. Maybe Pansy had been right.

"Thomas told me what he said at the gallery about... you know."

The silence stretched for what seemed like hours.

"Harry, look at me."

Harry didn't want to, but Draco's voice was like a siren's song.

"You're not the only one, you know."

Harry wasn't sure if that meant what he thought it meant or if he'd missed part of the conversation entirely, but then Draco reached over and lifted Harry's hand from his lap, twining their fingers together.

"The Harry I know doesn't run away from a fight."

Harry laughed, but there wasn't a lot of humour in it. "It's not the fighting that scares me."

"Am I really that frightening?"

"Terrifying."

Draco chuckled and squeezed Harry's hand. "Look, Harry, I can't promise you that this won't end badly. Relationships are... complicated. It's a bit like dancing. There are twirls and dips. Sometimes it's romantic, sometimes it's fun, and sometimes you trip over your own feet and fall flat on your face. But if you trust your partner, you know they'll always be there to catch you when you stumble."

Music was filtering out from the marquee and Draco's hand was warm against his palm, and in that brief moment, everything seemed so easy. He still thought it might be a monumental mistake, but he knew he wanted Draco, and maybe... just maybe, that was enough.

He released Draco's hand and pushed himself off the ground, brushing stray blades of grass from his suit. Draco stood next to him, straightening his tie nervously. The back of his hair brushed the collar of his suit coat and Harry felt an almost insane need to run his fingers through it.

"Dance with me," he whispered instead.

Draco's smile rivalled the brilliance of the fires that reflected in his eyes. When Draco leaned forward to kiss him, Harry didn't hesitate, he wrapped his arms around Draco and pulled him closer. The kiss lasted for a long time before Draco finally pulled away. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes looked dark and sultry.

"I'm feeling the urge to say something inappropriately sappy which would necessitate an Obliviation later, so can we go dance before I make a complete fool of myself?"

Harry laughed, feeling as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He gave in to his desire to run his fingers through Draco's hair. It felt like spun gold beneath his fingertips. He tilted Draco's head to the perfect angle and kissed him again, the same way Draco had tried to kiss him in his front hallway a month ago before Harry had kicked him out. When he pulled away, Draco looked as though he might faint.

"Just for the record—" Harry whispered against his lips, "I still want you to fuck me against the wall like a whore."

Draco's breath hitched and Harry almost laughed at the way his pupils went dark and wild.

"Just for the record—" Draco gripped Harry's arse and pressed their pelvises together, grinding his hard cock into Harry's,"—I'm more than happy to fuck you against whatever surface you want, as many times as you want, but I'd much prefer a proper bed the first time."

Harry glanced back toward the marquee. It sounded like the band had started playing and he could hear laughter echoing from the windows. Part of him wanted to walk back in with Draco's hand in is and dance the night away in Draco's arms, but the other part of him, the part that was rock hard and begging to have Draco's lips wrapped around it, wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"Yours or mine?" he finally asked.

Draco made a strangled noise that sounded almost like a sob. His head fell to Harry's shoulder and he tightened his grip on Harry's arse, and _fuck_ he rocked against Harry's groin, and Harry worried he might come all over his expensive new trousers.

He brushed Draco's hair from his neck and kissed the pale expanse of skin, nipping lightly at Draco's ear. The words _I love you_ were on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back in favour of "The Three Broomsticks is closer."

Draco growled as he pulled away, mumbling something about _fucking Anti-Apparation wards_ as he practically dragged Harry toward the gates of Hogwarts.

~~~

"It's almost midnight, Al. You boys should have been in bed an hour ago."

"But, Mr. Potter—"

"You too, Scorpius. Even game-winning Seekers need their sleep."

"James isn't even home yet."

"James is almost seventeen. You're not. Now off to bed with you. The Portkey leaves early in the morning and we can't be late."

Al growled, but nudged Scorpius and headed to their shared bedroom. The World Cup had been brilliant. He was starting to understand what all the hype was about.

Scorpius dived face first onto his bed and rolled over, his grin huge. "I still can't believe I snagged the Snitch right from underneath Emerson's nose."

Al curled up in his bed and propped himself up to look at his friend. The game had been a week ago, and he still couldn't believe it either. It had almost been better than the World Cup. "I wish we didn't have to go home tomorrow."

Scorpius leaned his head back against his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. "How long do you think it'll be before they move in together?"

Al snorted. "How long do you think they'll pretend they're sleeping in separate bedrooms?"

Scorpius sniggered. "Thank Merlin for Silencing Charms."

Al rolled over to turn off the lamp. "It was a good plan, Scorp."

"Of course it was," Scorpius said around a huge yawn. "I thought of it, didn't I?"

Al laughed and pulled his covers up to his chin. Music drifted in from the suite's small common room, and after a few moments he heard a thud and a deep chuckle. He shook his head and rolled onto his side. From what he could tell, love was even more confusing than Quidditch, but it seemed to make his dad happy, and really, that had been the plan all along.

~fin~


End file.
